


Hooded

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [27]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Breaking, Edging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8751460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo wanted this.





	

“You will tell me,” Poe’s voice rings, the mid-tones hitting the wide walls, the depths plunging to echo in the floor, and up through the knees and into the ribs. “You will tell me everything.”  


He’s naked, and there’s no nice metal to mark him as lovingly owned. He’s clamped in heavy binders, chained down to the floor. He can’t lift his head up, can only lie down or kneel with his crown tilted in submission. His wrists clamped to his waist and the heavy belt, his ankles spread behind him. His kneecaps hurt, and the position will leave him in cramp and distress before a half-hour has passed. 

Kylo opts to say nothing. That is the game. To say nothing, and to fight with all he has. This is what was agreed, and the giddy-fear bubbles in his torso spread through his whole being. 

A slap to the face. It’s a loss of control on Poe’s part, until he realises it was a distraction. After the stinging feel at his split lip, he realises Poe’s done it so he can grab his hair, and he’s startled when a vibroblade comes up behind his neck, threatening his locks. 

Poe… _likes_ his hair, and so does Kylo. But now he’s worried he’ll all but scalp him bald, and the thought is something so shocking that–

“What were you planning?” the Emperor asks.  


He has a scenario. He’s supposed to hold it back. For a minute, he just wants to (honestly) yell ‘nothing’. But then he remembers he’s supposed to be concealing something, and he sucks at his lip. 

“Nothing,” he lies, this time.   


The hand pulls harder, and there’s a slice, and a hand pulls away. 

It’s not all of his hair, but the lock thrown down in front of him shows he means business. Kylo stares at it, but then there’s something dark and coarse over his head, blocking out his vision. A sack of some form, and it’s pulled and clamped around his neck. Then something belts where his mouth opens, and Kylo tries to scream into it. He can’t see, he can’t speak, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s forgotten he has the Force, and then a kick to his shoulders has him falling flat, almost breaking his nose. He can’t break his fall because his hands are bound, and he’s left bent over, awkward and hurting.

Poe. Poe. Please. Please stop. 

He has ways out of this, even without the Force. Agreed ways to end the scene, but right now he can’t think about them. It’s too real, and he shakes in his blind worry, wriggling.

_Poe could leave the room, could leave him. Somehow the fear of that is worse than any threat of violence or anything else._

**Don’t leave don’t leave don’t** –

A foot on his neck, and Kylo goes still. He’s relieved by the pressure, and his mind…

No. Supposed to fight. Supposed to _resist._ Supposed to–

“Are you ready to tell me, now?”  


No. He isn’t. Kylo screams a half-hearted obscenity into the belt biting through the hood, and swallows at the excess saliva. It’s messy, and he doesn’t like it. A snort, and then there’s a sudden shock of electric pain in one shoulder. A shock-staff, or something of that kind. The blast makes him judder with nervy pain, but it’s the wordless, unloving pressure that hurts most.

Normally their sessions are drenched in love, and right now it doesn’t… doesn’t feel it. It’s a scene, but it’s hard, and Kylo doesn’t like it as much as he thought he would. Or… he does, but it’s an unpleasant liking. Self-loathing at his need for this, at how broken and wrong he is…

A hand grabs the hair hanging under the hood, and he’s bent back again. Words near his covered ear, made muffled through the canvas. “You’re–”

Kylo nods. He will. He’ll talk. 

Poe is clearly surprised, because his fingers get softer in his hair. “You’re ready?”

Kylo is. He’s pathetic, but he’s - he doesn’t want any more of this. He’s broken, and he knows it. The belt in his mouth pushing hessian onto his tongue goes, and the hood is pulled clear.

He’s crying. His face is streaked, and snot runs from his nose. He can’t quite work out how to talk, but there’s hands suddenly unclipping and unfastening things. Kylo bleats nonsense sounds, fighting to get the confession out. Hands hold his face, and his eyes can’t see through water.

“Pet… pet. You did well,” his Master tells him, wiping his cheeks furiously. “It’s okay. It’s over now. You did good.”  


He did terribly, and he knows. He doesn’t even know his arms are free until Poe’s own go under them and pull him to his chest. They kneel together on the floor, and Kylo bawls as he realises he fucked this up. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Poe says, curling around him and sliding them both to lie down together on the floor. “You did so well.”  


“I… I thought I…”  


Poe kisses the tears from his lashes. “You wanted breaking, Kylo. This is what it is. You _did it_.”

Kylo nods, and cuddles in as tightly as he can to Poe. “I… you’re not mad?”

“You did so well, my pet. You’re so very, very strong,” he whispers, and kisses more cry from his face. “It’s okay. I put you back together, now. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re _mine_.”  


The floor is cold, but Poe is warm. He shudders, and he hopes he never needs this again.


End file.
